


Another Pretty Face

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, POV Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of Marvel's The Avengers from the point of view of Natasha Romanoff. See how she uses her pretty face and skilled moves, and how she feels about that. I know, horrible summary, but the story is better, I promise! Btw, I have no idea where this is going. The story writes itself, I swear. I am a powerless scribe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comprimised

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, Muse here. Yesterday I was watching the Avengers, and I wondered, what must be going on inside Natasha's head right now? So this story kinda spun out of that.  
> Disclaimer, Which I always forget about: I own nothing. Nothing nothing nothing. No matter how much I beg and plead my parents to buy me the Avengers for my birthday, they don't.  
> Also, this story is also on my fanfiction account under the username Rushman2.0. I didn't steal it.

Natasha was tied to a chair, getting punched and slapped. Pathetic. They knew who she was, they knew her legacy and reputation, and yet she was getting slapped. Wimps. But perhaps her 'pretty face' was helping her. It also probably helped that she looked flattered when he called her pretty. But that's all part of the play. Natasha knew that she was beautiful. If she wasn't, she wouldn't make half as good a spy, with guys underestimating her. It was insulting, but it got the job done. Meanwhile, Luchkov was "interrogating her", while simultaneously telling her everything she needed to know about his operation. But of course, _he_ didn't know that. He didn't know what her mission was. He still thought she worked for the Russian government. He was playing with some of the "torture devices" on the table, no doubt to threaten her. She might have to pull the scared little girl routine. That usually worked. It wouldn't be too hard to make the tears believable. That's the problem with thugs. They are so sexist. It's demeaning. Natasha was just about to break into tears when a phone rang. Her phone. One of the thugs answered it.

"Это для нее. (It's for her)" he said, handing the phone to Luchkov. _Wait, really? Someone called my phone, and they want to talk to me? No shit, Sherlock!_

Luchkov began to attempt threatening the person on the other end, presumably Coulson, but he was cut off. Natasha could just make out, yep, Coulson, on the other end saying, "We have an F22 exactly 8 miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow the block before you can make the lobby." The phone was thrust at Natasha, who struggled to hold it to her ear with her shoulder.

"We need you to come in," Coulson started, sounding all official-like.

"Are you kidding? I'm working!" Natasha was pissed. She had spent a month on a chaotic solo mission for this moment, this information. She wasn't just going to give it up.

"This takes precedence." Coulson wasn't messing around.

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation; this moron is giving me everything," she said, and Luchkov looked at his goons, confused. Well that was an interrogation wasted. Oh well, he was too stupid to give a thrill anyway.

"I not... give everything," he said with a thick Russian accent. Natasha gave him a look that said 'seriously, think about what you just told me.'

"Look, you can't pull me out of this right now-" Natasha wasn't going down without a fight, but she got cut off with the words she hoped she would never have to hear.

"Natasha... Barton's been compromised," Phil said. To anyone else, his tone was impassive, but Natasha could hear the sympathy and pain in his voice. Her blood ran cold. Clint. He was her savior; her partner in every meaning of the word.  Her body felt like it was shutting down. But she couldn't deal with that right now. There were goons leering at her, waiting for her to kick their asses. So she kept her face blank, and said, "Let me put you on hold," and gestured for Luchkov to take the phone.

**Now, I cannot adequately describe what happened next, for I am not a super ninja. So, either go watch this scene in Marvel's _The Avengers_ , or read my description:**

Badass flippy thing badass badass lots of flippy things, break the chair, badass badass more flippy things, attack Luchkov and badass-ly throw him down two stories with a chain wrapped around his legs. Smirk. All in about 30 seconds. Not bad. She really likes her flippy things!

Natasha picked up the phone and grabbed her shoes, resuming her conversation with Coulson as if she hadn't just taken down three thugs in the most badass way possible.

"Where's Barton now?" she asked. Barton. She hadn't called him that in years, but she felt the need to distance herself. If he had been compromised...she couldn't even think.

"We don't know," Coulson said, pain in his voice.

"But he's alive," Natasha said, but it was more of a statement than a question. Because he couldn't not be dead. He couldn't just up and leave her like that. He wasn't allowed to.

"We think so. I'll brief you on everything when you get back. But first, we need you to talk to the Big Guy." Coulson said, ensuring that she had something to keep her mind occupied. It worked.

"Coulson, you know that Stark trusts me about as far as he can throw me," Natasha said with a smile. She remembered the look on her former "boss's" face when he found out who she really was. It was priceless.

"Oh, I've got Stark. You get the Big Guy," Coulson said, hanging up. Natasha stopped in her tracks. The Big Guy as in...the Hulk?

"боже мой!" Natasha muttered. Tread lightly, Romanoff.

She made her way out of the abandoned building to the car that SHIELD had waiting for her. Inside was her overnight bag. Every field agent had one for missions. If you were delayed, or couldn't get back to H.Q., they made sure you had your overnight bag. Natasha rarely used hers anymore, with her track record she didn't need to, but Coulson must have sent it. Alone, in Russia, with a compromised partner is not a good combination. She was glad to have it. She got in the car and drove to her hotel, checking in under Nancy Reed. She made her way up the stairs - never trust elevators - and to her room. When she closed the door, she broke. She stumbled, and then sank to the floor. She couldn't think; she couldn't breathe. She couldn't function without him. The tears lingered over her eyelashes, but they refused to fall. She hadn't cried since she was 4 years old and they told her that her parents were dead. But that had fueled her to fight back, and escape the Red Room. But she didn't know how to fight back now. She didn't know what had happened to him, or how. Coulson said he'd brief her when she got back, but she couldn't go yet. She had to find Banner. Fun times. And she doubted flirting would work on him. Word was he had a girlfriend. Damn, that meant she was down to her impossibly quick thinking. What a shame. But as a scientist, intelligence and logic would probably work better anyway.

Natasha pulled herself up off of the floor and grabbed her bag. She left her gun by the door, and boiled some water for tea. She then opened her bag, finding what she'd put in it about five years ago. On top was the file on Banner, which she put aside to read later. Under that were a few protein bars, which she promptly threw away without checking the expiration dates, and her catsuit, weapons included. Then came her pajamas. A pair of red cotton shorts, and one of Clint's shirts. After a horrible mission, at a banquet no less, she was left in a tiny dress that was torn to shreds. He'd been her backup, not needing to wear the full tux, so he gave her his shirt. She never gave it back. That was 6 years ago, right after Budapest. Natasha clutched the shirt to her chest with a sigh. In the bottom of her bag was a little packet of black Russian tea. She let it brew while she changed out of her little black dress. It was a shame, too. The dress had been one of her favorites, and now, thanks to Luchkov, it looked like crap. She muttered a few curses about him in various languages, and pulled on her shorts. When she slipped the shirt over her head, it swished over her body, encasing her. It was way too big, but that didn't matter. Natasha took her tea and sat on the bed, reading the file on Banner. Calcutta. Strange place for a man who's supposed to be avoiding stress.


	2. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics are Natasha's thoughts. Well, technically it's all her thoughts, but this is what actually goes through her head. And for the flashback, I didn't want to do it in the third person, so I did it like she was telling a story.

Plane rides are usually boring, right? All you do is sit there, maybe watch a movie, and try your best not to have to pee. Right?

Wrong. Not for a master assassin, at least. And technically it's a quin-jet. Natasha was prepping. She had reread the file on Banner, and shoved everything else out of her mind. She needed to focus, now more than ever. Focus is always crucial, obviously, but not only did she have more distractions to deal with, but she also had to be very careful so as not to piss off Banner. A jolly green giant was the last thing she wanted to deal with right now. She also felt terribly impractical. She was wearing the outfit that had been dropped off in the morning. It would help her blend in with the Calcuttan surroundings. But it was horrible. First was a nice black tank top with lace details on the sleeves, which itched like hell. Then was the _long_ blue skirt. This was the main problem. You can't do a thigh holster and a long skirt; it takes too long to draw. That isn't to say that she wasn't armed, but she would have to place a couple of holsters around the room, which were just annoying. You have to make sure you are right next to one when you need it. It's a pain in the ass. Natasha was also wearing black boots, which were not too tight to hold a knife (in fact she had many), and a silky red shawl. She was so going to include Coulson in the next prank war for this.

"We will be landing in ten minutes," the pilot said over the intercom. Natasha began her routine check that everything was in order. She had her comm link, and she knew about her backup team and where it would be stationed. She had all of her knives, and the holsters to place around the room. She had stretched vigorously, and the picture of the Tesseract was on her phone, which was in her pocket.  
"Locked and loaded," she muttered in Irish, with a nostalgic smile. She and Clint would say that before every mission, but always in a different language so no one understood. Shit. Head in the game, Romanoff!

Natasha led the backup crew off the plane and gained her bearings. They passed out various weapons to be used if necessary to subdue the Hulk. If she did her job well, though, they wouldn't need to be used. They were stationed around an abandoned house on the edge of the city. SHIELD used it occasionally for work in Calcutta, and Natasha had only been there once before. She walked into the house, working out how to get Banner to come. Fury had so generously left that up to her. Natasha highly suspected it was a test to see if she was compromised or if she could work to get Clint back. So this was slightly important. The question, however, was very quickly answered with a noise coming from the bedroom.

Natasha drew her gun, but she wasn't too worried. It was probably just an animal that had taken shelter. But it was her paranoia that had kept her alive so long, so she kept the gun raised. She walked into the room, ever so silently searching for some indication. There was nothing in the room, but the bed coverings were crumpled, and there was a dirt scuff on the floor. Natasha stopped in her tracks. It was a person. First of all, an animal's instinct is to run from danger, not to hide, like humans. It was probably someone using the house for refuge. Also, the bed had very definitely been slept in recently. And by someone small. Natasha returned her gun to its mysterious and illusive hiding place, then crouched down and looked under the bed. Two scared brown eyes looked back. A child. Most likely Hindi.  
Natasha switched to the child's presumed language with ease, saying, "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Are you alone?" The child crawled out from under the bed and stood up. It was a little girl, maybe eight or nine, wearing a wrinkled brown dress and no shoes. Her black hair was a mess of tangles, and when she looked up, Natasha could see the mistrust in her eyes. She stared at Natasha, almost judging her, seeing if she was telling the truth. She had probably never seen anyone like Natasha. Red hair wasn't exactly common in Calcutta. Natasha could tell how tense the little girl was just by looking at her.  
But, amazingly, she muttered, "I don't know," looking down at the floor. She looked helpless, and Natasha took pity on her. Besides, here was the answer to her question.

"I'll tell you what. I need your help, and if you help me, I can help you. I can get you food, and clothing, someone to take care of you, an education. You can start fresh; make your life your own. But there's something I need you to do first." The little girl looked up, pondered for a moment, and then nodded furiously. She had such hope and innocence.  
Her voice was almost too soft to hear when she asked, "What do you need me to do?" Natasha gave her Banner's last known whereabouts (which for SHIELD means where he was two minutes ago), and told her to tell him that her father was very sick. Banner was working as a doctor, helping people in a country plagued with disease. He wouldn't say no. Natasha gave the girl some money, so Banner knew she could pay him. The little girl nodded and ran to the door, then paused, ran back, and threw her arms around Natasha. She was startled, but she hugged back. Fury was gonna give her hell for this, but it was beyond worth it. The little girl was almost out the door, when Natasha remembered something.

"Wait. What's your name?" She had to stop calling her 'the little girl' in her head. She turned and gave a half smile.  
"My name is Ashika, but most people called me Ashu. You can call me that too," and with that, she was gone. If she remembered correctly, Ashika meant hope. It suited her.

After she was clear, Natasha went outside to talk to her backup. She had trained this particular squad while on probation a couple of prank wars ago, so she knew them fairly well. And, of course, they knew to be scared of her. Natasha personally hated backup. It took the entire squad for something Clint and a few Junior agents could have done. What the hell was Fury punishing her for this time?

"Okay, listen up. Banner is on his way, and when he gets here, he needs to think he is alone. That is the basis of this entire operation. If any of you are seen, I will find you. Clumsy ones out there, and yes, Anderson, I am talking to you specifically, you can screw it up a million times in practice, but when you're in the field, it counts. This is the difference between life and Hulk. Okay. Now, that little girl who came out a few minutes ago, she is bringing him. After they get here, she will climb out the back window. When she does, you need to _get her out._ I don't care how, but if this goes south, she must not be harmed. Reynolds, and Wallace, take her away. I don't care where, but she is coming back with us. "Natasha gave them her Black Widow death glare, and they knew better than to question her decision. That was between her and Fury. Natasha internally rolled her eyes. Having her as a trainer did make them one of the toughest in their division, but it didn't mean they weren't reckless sometimes. She knew that better than anyone. She had the scars to prove it.

Natasha went back into the house and made sure nothing screamed **assassin**. When she was sure it was clear, she hid behind the room divider and waited.

Natasha smiled, remembering the last time she spoke Hindi. _It was last year, while Clint and I were engaged in our annual prank war with the new recruits. It was completely unfair. The two of us (and secretly, though they still won't admit it, Maria and Phil) against about fifty new agents. They didn't stand a chance. We had struck some very solid hits. One of them was on a particularly annoying woman who would not stop flirting with Clint. We made all of her uniforms, and the walls of her room, neon pink. We also spent almost six days hiding out in the air vents with balloons filled with water and paint. Those idiots really need to learn that when you are looking for someone, look up. We actually got Fury, which we still claim was a complete accident_ , _and he certainly knew where to find us. We were put on probation for that, but it was totally worth it. But about a week into the war, we were discussing plans in my room, and I heard someone, definitely new, in the air vents. I switched to Hindi, a language that they don't teach until level 5, and disguised my voice. Clint caught on, and we continued talking like nothing had happened. The recruits stopped, and we heard them say 'wrong room', and arguing about it._ _They were so loud, I made a complaint to their stealth teachers. Clint and I didn't dare look at each other until they were gone, but when we did, our laughter could have registered on the Richter scale. Clint fell off the couch, and started rolling on the floor. It was a good day.  
_

Natasha stiffened and snapped back to reality when she heard the little girl's, wait, Ashu's, and Banner's footsteps. Ashu ran into the room, with Banner a bit behind her, and proceeded to climb out the window. _Good work, Ashu_. Banner slumped, and then muttered, "Shoulda got paid up front, Banner." Natasha smirked, and then stepped out of the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. But I was only less than half way done with this, and I didn't want it to be around five or six thousand words. That's a lot to read in one sitting!  
> But I will have the next chapter posted soon. I have about half of it written in a notebook, and the rest is outlined in my head, so it shouldn't be too long. But if you want to know what happened to that adorable little girl with the name meaning Hope, kudos and comment. I won't kill her or anything, but she might go to a SHIELD Academy or something, depending on what Fury wants to do with her. I have said it before and I'll say it again: I do not write the stories. They write themselves. I am merely a powerless scribe.


End file.
